


Scratch Away The Sound

by chasesstarlight



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Emotional Manipulation, Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17790521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasesstarlight/pseuds/chasesstarlight
Summary: After Takeover: Phoenix, Johnny Gargano has no regrets whatsoever. Tommaso is there to reassure him of the fact.





	Scratch Away The Sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedLeaderfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/gifts).



> This is tagged CNTW because there's hard-to-define consent issues up the wazoo, mostly because of the nature of the canon storyline.  
> Title taken from The Becoming by Nine Inch Nails, which should probably be a warning regarding the tone of this all by itself!

 

* * *

 

 

The best and worst parts, Johnny thinks, are the moments where he closes his eyes and feels Tommaso’s fingertips on his skin, equal parts possessive and adoring, and he’s immediately thrown back to two years ago. This would be so much easier if things had been rough and tense, he would’ve been able to get whatever this is out of his system and then leave without a second thought, but - 

 

He shivers as Tommaso’s fingertips trace the title belt he’s still wearing. If he keeps his eyes closed he might well be back to the night after they won the tag titles, overjoyed and overwhelmed and with no way to deal with that in a dignified manner. He drops his head onto Tommaso’s shoulder, and the physical sensation of it - more beard than he remembers scratching at his cheek, heavier muscle he feels when reaching up his arms - snaps him out of the fog of memories he’d been wandering in, reminds him of where he is, what he’s won and what he did to get there. 

 

There’s something pulling at the edges of his awareness, buzzing like insects he can’t see but knows are there, and he shakes his head, trying to get rid of it. Johnny had honestly lost track of what Tommaso was doing, but he suddenly notices his hands have stopped tracing along the title belt and he’s being pushed back a little. Johnny takes a step back and finds himself stumbling against the edge of the hotel bed; he falls backwards gracelessly, then sits back up to look up at Tommaso, who steps in between his knees. Tommaso reaches out and cups Johnny’s jaw, eyes fond, and Johnny suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. He flinches hard and doesn’t know why, but Tommaso reacts immediately; he drops down to crouch in front of Johnny, hands on his knees and thumbs rubbing tiny circles on the insides of Johnny’s thighs.

 

Johnny’s pretty sure the ringing in his ears is all in his head, and he shakes it to get rid of the loop of images blurring together in his mind - Tommaso’s hand on his face, throwing Ricochet into concrete, LED screens breaking against his skin, arms around him contrasting with his knee screaming in pain, the metal of a title belt under his hands. Somewhere in the distance he hears Tommaso’s voice, cutting through everything and drawing his attention the way it always seems to, and when the noise fades he slowly becomes able to make out what he’s saying.

 

“- did beautifully, I knew you’d be able to pull it off. There’s no stopping us now. Hey, shh-” Tommaso reaches up a hand as Johnny lets out a shaky breath, stroking his fingers through his hair, and Johnny leans into his hand instinctively. “You’re thinking too much. It worked out, right?” 

 

He nods, feeling Tommaso’s fingernails scratch against his scalp as he does so. It  _ had  _ worked, months of frustration and failure and pain wiped out in a flash of gold, and how much of that could he have avoided if he hadn’t clung to fantasies of who and what he should be? Everything he’s done - the way he wrestled this match, dealing with Black before he could get in the way - led to the success that’s been just outside his grasp for so long. All that, and Tommaso is  _ proud  _ of him, and there’s a feeling in his chest that might be nausea or something he doesn’t want to examine even in the privacy of his own head. 

 

Tommaso’s lifted up one of his hands, gently kissing his way down Johnny’s wrist, and the touches help centre him, clear his mind a little. Johnny sighs and wraps his free arm around Tommaso’s shoulders, and when he manages to focus his vision, Tommaso is looking at him seriously, a warmth in his eyes Johnny hasn’t seen in a long time. 

 

“You deserve,” Tommaso says softly, reaching out one hand to the North American Championship he’d set down on the floor, “everything you’ve fought for.” 

 

Johnny’s breaths still come out shallow, but he reaches for the title belt, touching Tommaso’s fingers where they’re resting on the centre plate. He does; eventually he’ll convince the useless, weak voice at the back of his mind of that as well. Tommaso’s hands are on his, and the itch that’s been under his skin for almost two years finally settles down. 

 

His legs are nudged apart as Tommaso shifts, peeling Johnny’s jeans off his hips and reaching for his cock. When Tommaso’s fingers wrap around him, Johnny makes an involuntary, desperate noise; Tommaso looks amused, then leans in to swallow it in a kiss. He briefly grazes his teeth along Johnny’s neck, pulling up his T-shirt to mouth his way down until he wraps his lips around Johnny’s cock, and his mind goes totally, wonderfully blank. He sighs in relief, tracing his hands up and down Tommaso’s spine.

 

He’s not sure how much time is spent in a blissful haze, but eventually he feels pressure build and his own hips stutter; his muscles immediately melt into honey, and Tommaso chuckles as he moves up to pull him against his shoulder. He kisses Johnny’s cheeks, wiping away moisture he hadn’t noticed was there and holding him as he wills himself to stop trembling. He has no idea why he’s so shaky when he feels so good, but pushes away the tangled knot of emotions in favour of reaching for the tie on Tommaso’s sweatpants. He’s too out of it for anything creative, barely focused enough to get his own hands to cooperate, but Tommaso thrusts into his hand and clutches at his back and it’s enough. Feeling Tommaso hide his face in the crook of Johnny’s neck as he comes is achingly familiar, and Johnny sighs and breathes in deep.

 

After, part of Johnny expects some sort of turn for the worse, his overtired mind twitchy and ready for a fight, but Tommaso just disappears to the bathroom for a few minutes before returning to help Johnny into the bed. Tommaso clicks the light off and gets into the other side, and even in the dim glow of the bedside clock Johnny sees his expression soften when Johnny curls into him. 

 

“You did the right thing,” Tommaso says, quiet voice loud in the silence of the room.

 

Johnny pauses. “I know,” he replies, praying it sounds more confident than he feels. He tucks his head against Tommaso’s shoulder as he starts to drift off to sleep, hoping that at least the nightmares won’t consist entirely of memories.

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
